A Poem about a Helpful Emotion
I felt rage in my dream and even as I write those words I grimace because people say (especially in the Midwest) “Anger isn’t a pretty thing!” It declines to…
Essays and Poetry by Barbara Powell
I felt rage in my dream and even as I write those words I grimace because people say (especially in the Midwest) “Anger isn’t a pretty thing!” It declines to…
and as soon as I sank into my chair I caught sight of my mouth in the mirror. The red didn’t have any business being there and as I opened…
You shout out the window as you drive alongside you lean greedily in followed by lustful eye saying, “but that ass, girl!” across intersection as I push my way through…
I’m reading all the books and somehow I don’t have all the answers. There’s a pinch in my heart, a weight on my chest, and the thump in its…
I am naked standing in front of his camera as he repositions the tripod. Moments earlier, I was alone in my apartment draped in a bathrobe an old lover…
I was born with this freckle gentle on my nose this mole taking hold on my side: bound to decompose. ‘Cause nothing lasts forever even tattoos’ printed ink. No,…
Sitting across from my naked body I can’t help but ask her why why she thinks so much about her sex. Why she dreams up vibrancy and creates stories…
I am a woman. I live where I live. I put myself first so that I can support me. I am resourceful. And brave. I break down to cry so…